Guilty Consciences
by miasnape
Summary: ON SEMIPERMENANT HIATUS DO NOT EXPECT UPDATES SOON Preslash story HPSS. Sometimes there's more to someone than you first thought. Harry and Snape start to realise this after their guilty consciences get the better of them.
1. I

**WARNINGS – OOTP SPOILERS**

**                        - (PRE) SLASH – SEVERUS/HARRY**

DISCLAIMER: All characters/trademarked and copyrighted indicia are property of J.K. Rowling, Bloomsbury, Scholastic and Warner Bros. I own my brain, the Harry Potter books and films I purchased and my computer (and some really rather fetching socks).

Rating – R for slashy nature, violence and icky images in future chapters.

Pairings – main: SS/HP side: HG/RW, DM/GW

Author's Notes/Summary – Was I the only one who, when they were reading this chapter, was screaming at Harry to apologise?  Started as a one-shot, but now is the beginnings of a fic thanks to bullying encouragement.

More than he would have liked, Harry though about Snape's memory of his father.

He thought about the cruel names and comments flung at Snape, who, he was able to admit, had done nothing to provoke it.

He thought about the active humiliation – the way his own father had tormented a person in the same way Dudley had him.

He thought about how like himself before he had learnt about his powers Snape had seemed.

He thought about the nickname – 'Snivellus'.  God, he knew it was so stupid, but even 'Scarhead' got to him sometimes.

And when he thought about it, even Malfoy wasn't that bad.  Yet.

It had been bad enough before his mother had interrupted, but how far would they have taken it?

He looked down at his hand.

"I must not tell lies."

Tossing and turning, he wondered if it was right to be using Sirius' house now that he was dead.

Well, technically it was his house now.  How bizarre.

Finally, admitting to himself that he wasn't able to sleep and wasn't likely to be able to any time soon, he got up, slipped on his slippers and quietly descended the stairs.

There was, unexpectedly, a light on in the kitchen.

When he pushed the door open, he found Snape and Moody sitting at the table in silence.

When they heard him, they looked up; one curiously, the other accusingly.

"I couldn't sleep," he muttered, going to the sink and filling the kettle up with water to boil.

Moody, looking at Snape with his good eye and Harry with the other, stood up.

"I'll go check on Tonks."

And he left.

Harry took a mug from the little wooden tree Mrs Weasley had brought, then, looking back at Snape, lifted another one and gesture questioningly with it to the tub of hot chocolate mix.

Surprisingly, Snape nodded, but only after raising his eyebrows derisively in mock shock.

The only sounds for a while were the water boiling in the kettle and then the tink of a spoon on ceramic.

Harry carried both mugs over to the table and pushed one over to Snape as he sat down, pulling his close and blowing on it before taking a tentative sip.

Deeming it too hot, he set it aside to cool, then ran his finger absently over his 'lies' scar.

"What does it say?"

Snape's voice, though low and not full of its usual malice, startled him badly, and the resultant jump made the hot liquid wobble precariously in the mugs.

He looked down at his hand as if to read it; as if it weren't burnt into his mind as well as scribed into his flesh.

"I must not tell lies."

Snape looked darkly contemplative.

"Why did you do it?"

Harry looked at him incredulously.  Did Snape think he'd willingly done it to himself?

"I… Umbridge.  Her detentions?  It was my punishment for telling the truth."

Snape took a sip of his drink.  Harry waited for the insult that was sure to come, but it never did.

"You never told Dumbledore."

It was more of a question than it seemed.

"He had other things to worry about."

Snape nodded and they lapsed into silence.

When Harry finished his drink, he rinsed and washed out his mug, leaving it to drip dry.

He got to the door, but turned back to Snape before he opened it, unconsciously fingering the scar on his hand again.

"Professor, I…"

Snape looked up, expression inscrutable.

"About your pensieve – I wanted to apologise."

Snape just stared at him.  Harry was grateful enough that he wasn't yelling to think much of his silence.

"I'm sorry.  Not just for invading your privacy, but for my father.  He never really had a chance to grow up, but I like to think that he would have if he had.  I'm sorry."

Snape kept staring.  Harry bent his head and turned to the door, putting his hand on the door handle.  Without turning around, he spoke again.

"I didn't laugh.  I… I would never laugh."

And with that he opened the door.  It was almost shut when Snape spoke again.

"Potter."

Harry let the door open a little and turned his head.

"We will continue with the occlumancy lessons beginning tomorrow afternoon.  I will come get you.  Practice tonight before you sleep."

Fighting an inexplicable urge to smile, Harry nodded.

"Thank you professor."

This time the door closed with no interruptions.

When he turned to go upstairs he found Moody standing at the bottom end of the corridor.

He stared at Harry for a while before nodding.

Harry nodded back and ascended the staircase.

Settling down into bed, Harry began to clear his mind.

Between that, the late hour, the hot chocolate and the strange feeling of peace in him, it wasn't long before he was asleep.

It took Snape a lot longer to succumb to unconsciousness that night.

XOX,

Mia Snape

To all those nice reviewers – yes, you got your way!

Anora – I pity your fingers and I'm glad you didn't have to put them through undue pain.

Too Lazy To Sign In – Ah, the lethargy these days!  Anyway, whoever you are, thank you for the kind words.  Sorry if I was unusually cruel!  Hopefully the next chapter made up for it.

Thanks also go to:

Stinky Stan

allison lightning

Audraniac

Facade

bluebird161221

HavenKane

Jeanne

Leah

Animegirl18 aka Hoshiko

Thanks for reviewing.


	2. II

**WARNINGS – OOTP SPOILERS**

**                        - SLASH – SEVERUS/HARRY**

DISCLAIMER: All characters/trademarked and copyrighted indicia are property of J.K. Rowling, Bloomsbury, Scholastic and Warner Bros. I own my brain, the Harry Potter books and films I purchased and my computer (and some really rather fetching socks).

Rating – R for slashy nature, violence and icky images in future chapters.

Pairings – main: SS/HP side: HG/RW, DM/GW

Author's Notes/Summary – Was I the only one who, when they were reading this chapter, was screaming at Harry to apologise?  Started as a one-shot, but now is the beginnings of a fic thanks to bullying encouragement.

Chapter 2 

When Moody re-appeared Severus was still sitting at the kitchen table, holding his rapidly cooling mug of hot chocolate.  It had been made from powder – disgusting when compared to real hot chocolate, but it was sweet and warm enough that it had appealed to him a few minutes ago.

Moody came and sat opposite in the seat Harry had just vacated.  Severus knew he had only left to allow them a chance for a discussion.  He doubted Moody had much of an idea of the details, but it wasn't only the magical eye that made the old auror observant – he had a brilliantly analytical brain in his grizzled head.  Mostly these days it was focused on his ever-growing paranoia, but he put it to good use in his dealings with acquaintances, too, and no doubt he had known that there had been even more tension between the Potions Master and the only remaining Potter during this year than usual.

Severus stared down into the muddy-brown liquid in the mug.  It showed a glimmering, shimmering echo of his face and the cupboards behind his head, all in shades of brown rather than colour.  He looked pensive as well as exhausted, the corners of his mouth turned down and his brow furrowed.

He took a sip, more out of a desire to stop looking at him self than of a desire to taste the vile substance.  It was cool and not very chocolaty – Severus surmised that when he emptied the mug out, thick, brown goo would coat the bottom.

It took some self-control not to spit it back out again, but it still retained it sweetness, so he swallowed it, hoping it would keep his brain and muscle cells active for a few more hours – just until he was ready to attempt sleep again.

He set the mug down and tried to rub the sleep out of his eyes, but only succeeded in making his vision blurry for a good thirty seconds.

Sighing, he got up and began rinsing out his mug.

"If that damned elf, Kreacher, weren't as mad as his former master this place might actually look halfway decent and be kept like a proper wizarding home," he groused, drying his hands on a dishtowel.

Moody made a nasal noise, not quite a harrumph, and Severus wasn't sure whether the older wizard agreed with him or not.  He didn't press the point, and wandered over to the window overlooking the dingy back yard, pressing his palms flat along the cold windowsill and gazing out into the night.

He knew for a fact that when the Black family had resided here, many years ago now, the yard had been based on a roman-style courtyard.  He had visited with his parents as a child of about seven – one pureblood family visiting another as they were prone to do – and spent the whole time hiding from Sirius and Regulus behind the giant terracotta pots filled with glossy, green-leaved plants.  Now, however, it was a mess of cracked concrete, mossed over urns and weeds covered in dirt, looking even worse in daylight than it did now, shrouded in darkness.

"I wonder if young Potter has any plans to fix this place up properly, now."

Severus refused to jump, but he was startled – he hadn't even realised Moody had gotten up and wandered over behind him.  He made a non-committal noise and continued to stare out of the window, which was clean on the inside, and dirty out.

Moody continued to speak anyway, apparently having anticipated Severus' disinterest.

"That poor Black lad never had his heart in it.  Don't blame him, either after the life he had."

Severus snorted bitterly.

"Black was a spoilt brat and bully as a child, and not much better as a man.  He was a fool and attention-seeking prat, just as most of the Gryffindors of Hogwarts are, and if he'd bothered to listen to Dumbledore he would likely not only never have experienced Azkaban in the first place, but he would still be alive to torment me today.  His life was of his own decisions, just as mine is, yours is, and Potter's will be."

The way the light shone on the glass of the window provided a shadowy mirror.  Severus studied the ex-auror's expression in this reflection and found it to be contemplative.

At length Moody spoke.

"I do believe that young Potter is already living a life bound by decisions: his own and those of other people.  And I believe that perhaps we are /all/ victims of not only our own choices, but those of others, too.  The trick is not only in choosing wisely, but also in making the most of the situation you find yourself in.

"The trouble with Sirius Black was that those years in Azkaban shook him so badly that he wasn't even sure what the situation was, never mind how to manipulate it.  Even if his innocence kept him somewhat sane, those Dementors still had plenty to work on him with – there's not a soul on this earth more than a year or two old that doesn't have some memory that would eat away at them in that place."

Severus was silent for a while, before moving away from the window.

"Potter won't have the time to make aesthetic plans for his inheritance."

Moody looked at him with both eyes, a gaze so focused and knowing that it made Severus a little uneasy.

"No?" he questioned in a way that indicated he knew exactly why but would never admit to it.  Severus shook his head.

"No, he'll be too busy with his lessons.  Minerva somehow convinced me to tutor him in potions and get him up to the appropriate level to start in my NEWT level class, and the occlumency seemed to …wear on him… the last time we tried it."

"And you'll be taking it up again?"

Severus looked at the doorway where Potter had stood.  A flash of Potter's hand and its cursive scar and then the boy standing with his back to him, hand on the door handle ran through his mind.__

_I'm sorry…_

_He never really had a chance to grow up…_

_Thank you, professor…_

_I would never laugh…_

_I must not lie…_

_I like to think he would have…_

_I'm sorry…_

"Yes.  Something tells me he'll put more effort in this time."

Severus started towards the door, ready to attempt unconsciousness again.

"Goodnight, Moody."

As he opened the door he heard the _clunk, clunk, clunk_, of Moody moving towards the table.

"Goodnight, Snape.  Good luck with teaching Potter."

"Thank you," he muttered, closing the door quietly behind him.

He approached the stairway that led to the bedrooms and made his way up and into one of the rooms prepared for use.

As he lay in bed in a t-shirt and boxers under a thin sheet to combat the summer warmth he began to think about Potter.

The boy had apologised, not only for his own transgressions, but also for his father's, and if he was truthful with himself – something he always strove to be – it was the latter he had been waiting in limbo for since James Potter had died, it was the latter that would have spared Harry Potter years of being on the receiving end of well-matured spite, and it was the latter which had left him with a leaden feeling in his chest.

Perhaps he had misjudged Potter Jr., and if he had it was just another scoop of guilt to add to the pile that was sending him down into fire and brimstone when he stepped off this mortal plane.

He flipped over onto his back and stared at the well of darkness that was the ceiling far above him.  He couldn't live on assumptions – he wasn't that sort of person.  He liked to know things for sure – when he was aware he didn't already, anyway.

No, he couldn't live on assumptions, so tomorrow he and Potter were going to have a discussion.  One which would probably end in an argument or fight, but they would have one none the less.

Flipping back onto his stomach, Severus began to clear his mind.  It was rough going, but eventually, mere hours before he was due downstairs again, he fell into a fitful sleep full of half-formed images.

A boy with purposefully tousled black hair sneering at him, laughter in the background.

A forbidding man and frightened woman with tears running in tracks down her cheeks, one pale, one red with the mark of a hand.

A group of boys encircling him, taunting him, hurting him.

Green eyes looking at him with concern and pity.

A forest clearing where he lay bloodied, marked and broken.

A face with eyes so red they glowed and a face to match his beloved pet.

The back of a boy, head bent in remorse and hair naturally messy.

_I wanted to apologise… he never really had a chance._

R&R, please!

XOX,

Mia Snape/SeverusShadow

J


	3. III

**_**

****

Guilty Consciences 

****

**WARNING – OOTP SPOILERS**

DISCLAIMER: All characters/trademarked and copyrighted indicia are property of J.K. Rowling, Bloomsbury, Scholastic and Warner Bros. I own my brain, the Harry Potter books and films I purchased and my computer (and some really rather fetching socks).

Rating – R for slashy nature, violence and icky images in future chapters.

Author's Notes/Summary – Was I the only one who, when they were reading this chapter, was screaming at Harry to apologise?  Started as a one-shot, but now is the beginnings of a fic thanks to… encouragement.  It's the first of what will be a triptych, and there'll be no slash until the second story – none at all – so feel free to read this story even if you're not going to continue when their relationship changes.

I'm sorry it's been so long since the ;ast chapter!  Really, writers' block should be sent to hell and made to push-ups continuously in a pit of lime jello with bits of orange in it.  But it's here, so read, enjoy, and more importantly, review! (O/J)

Chapter 3 

Harry sat with his back against a large, cracked terracotta urn, staring up at the clouds.  They weren't making shapes, no matter how much he squinted and tilted his head.

McGonagall had just spoken to him about taking Potions NEWTs.  It seemed that even though Umbridge wasn't going to be there this year she was sticking to her promise to help Harry become an auror.  How she had managed to convince Snape of all people to take him into a class when he was a grade below the requirement  - an 'A' which Harry was entirely happy with – was completely above him, but she had, apparently.  As long as he took summer tutorials with Snape to bring him up to standard, next year he would be a Potion's student and eligible for training as an auror.

The problem was, he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to be an auror anymore.

Every time he thought about it and what it would be like, his mind dredged up that picture of Sirius on the dais, falling in that graceful arc into the curtains.  Just gone so suddenly and not coming back, because the only way back was as a ghost, and Nick had said that that was the coward's way out of death.  Sirius may have been many things, but he was no coward, which meant that he wasn't coming back.

Harry sighed and twisted around so that his shoulder rested on the urn and began examining his fingernails.

Maybe if he just sat here behind the giant, moss-covered pot Snape wouldn't find him and he wouldn't get those lessons.  Then everyone could say 'Oh, what a pity' and get over it and he'd take some boring job where people didn't get killed just by falling over.

"Mister Potter!"

Or maybe Snape would just come find him and he'd have to anyway.

Wondering how someone could cast a shadow so solid and black as the one Snape was casting over him now, Harry turned around and looked up.

"Professor Snape."

He'd been expecting Snape to order him up and inside to begin his lessons – either in potions or in occlumency – so it was slightly jarring to see Snape point his wand at another urn, turn it into a small cushioned stool, and promptly sit on it.

"Uhm…"

He wasn't quite sure what was happening, so he decided not to speak.

"Professor McGonagall has spoken to me.  She informed me that she has also spoken to you."

It didn't really require a response, but he nodded cautiously anyway.

"She was quite insistent that you gain a NEWT in Potion Making.  Something to do with your future career."

Harry didn't really want to look at Snape, so he looked at Snape's seat.

It was made out of mahogany and he had the strange urge to trace the knotty grain with his finger.

"Yes, sir."

"Mister Potter, look at me when I'm talking to you."

Sighing inwardly only because sighing outwardly would have annoyed Snape, he looked up again at Snape's face.

"Yes, sir."

Snape didn't actually look all that annoyed.  More contemplative.

"I take it your wish is to become an auror."

Harry bit the side of his lower lip.  Something inside him was screaming not to lie to Snape, because he would find out anyway thanks to the occlumency.  Something else was telling him to lie because not becoming an auror would be the coward's way out, and Snape would ridicule him for backing off because of fear.

His hesitancy had apparently garnered Snape's full attention.

"Having second thoughts, Potter?"

Had it been said in a derogatory voice, Harry knew he probably would have flown off the handle and started shouting at Snape, but strangely it wasn't.

"I…"

"Perhaps you have now come to see the true danger that the job involves?"

Bowing his head again, Harry looked at the line of moss running in the gap between two flagstones beside Snape's chair and began kicking at it with his dilapidated trainer.  The sole was beginning to come off the rest of the shoe at the front – he had had them for about four years, and they had been Dudley's before that, so he was surprised they hadn't started to fall apart earlier.

"I don't want to die."

He froze in shock, the front of his foot just above the ground, heel dug into the cement.

He hadn't meant to say that.  In fact, he was almost sure he really hadn't wanted to say that at all.  He was really quite certain that he hadn't wanted to say it to anyone, especially Snape.

He felt his cheeks start to burn and kept his head bowed in the hopes his hair would cover some of the flushed skin, and stared again at the moss he had been kicking.  Above his head Snape was silent for a while before speaking.

"Everyone dies, Potter – it's simply a matter of when."

Harry felt his anger start to bubble up, but tried to keep himself calm.

"I know that, sir.  I also know that my parents, Cedric Diggory, and Sirius all died many, many years before they had to, and that they mightn't have were it not for me.  And I would rather die than any more people did – if my death stopped them from dying before they had to, I would die for them.  I just don't want to die before I have to, either."

He looked up, right into Snape's eyes.

"Has Dumbledore told you about the prophecy?  Or Voldemort?  Have either of them told you anything about it?"

Harry might have flinched when Snape's gaze narrowed at him – probably because he said the name – but he really wanted to know.

"Each has told me what they deemed it necessary for me to know.  They rather contradicted each other – in one you were to die and bring the Dark Lord to glory; in the other you were to live and bring him to death.  I know which I prefer."

Harry sighed and crossed his legs, rubbing the bridge of his nose.  He thought that maybe Snape would like a mixture of the two – Voldemort dead, but him dead too.

"Basically, for me it's either kill him or get killed.

"I either get killed like the inexperienced little boy I am normally would in that type of situation, or I get really lucky – like I have before, but more – and manage to kill him.

"And of course, if I die, he lives on to terrorise, and he does it indefinitely because I'm not there to kill him anymore.  Voldemort only knows that last bit, so he's a bit enthusiastic about it."

Harry snorted with laughter, but it wasn't happy laughter.

"'The child born as the seventh month dies.'  Did you know that could have been Neville?"

Harry shook his head.

"Merlin knows I'd've loved it not to be me, but if it had been Neville, I'm not sure he could have coped.

"It's bad enough not knowing your parents, but to know them and have them not recognise you no matter how many times you told them who you were…"

Harry rested his elbows on his knees and put his chin in his hands.  He'd really forgotten he was speaking to Snape, forgotten Snape was even there – this was just him clearing his mind of all the guff he needed to clear it of.

"He keeps the sweet wrappers she gives him – his mother that is.  She doesn't give him sweets, just the wrappers, but he keeps them.  His grandmother says she's given him enough to paper his room, so I don't know where he keeps them, but he does."

Sighing again, Harry shifted so that his shoulder was to the urn again and he was looking up at the clouds.

Still no shapes.

"The only thing I have of my parents is the cloak, but I'm not sure which is worse.

"I guess I'd just like to know what my mother was like when she was alive, even if my father was a big disappointment.  Knowing he was an arrogant brat is better than not knowing him at all, and I don't know about my mother at all"

He was still looking at the clouds, so he didn't see Snape narrow his gaze again, if in a different way.

"Aunt Petunia never spoke about her to me – she never spoke about anything much to me, though."

He took on a high-pitched voice.

"'Don't ask questions!' 'Don't be impertinent!' 'Your mother was a freak and her husband was a good-for-nothing fool.'  Only got that last one in recent years, though, when I knew I was a wizard."

"When you knew you were a wizard?"

Harry jumped at Snape's unexpected response, pressing his hand to his chest, his heart fluttering.

He looked up to see Snape smirking at him.

"Oh, sorry, Potter, did I frighten you?"

Snarling a bit, Harry looked away to hide his embarrassment.  Did that man have to be mean every chance he got?  Couldn't he let some of those chances slide by?

"I forgot I wasn't alone.  And, yes, when I knew I was a wizard.  I didn't always."

Harry hated it when people just assumed he had known, and he could feel that anger growing, layered on top of the anger over being startled and then mocked.

He ground his foot on to the moss and squashed it flat.

"I didn't always know I was a wizard!  Shock, horror!  The Boy Who Lived was ignorant of the very thing that made him The Boy Who Lived!  Let's all go run and hide under the bed incase he gets us all killed, because it doesn't MATTER now that he knows the same amount of things about magic as he did the last time he went up against Voldemort! Let's send him off to do a job he can't possibly do anyway, because NONE OF US WANT TO!"

Harry hadn't realised until he finished that at the very end he had been shouting.

No, he had been yelling.

At Snape.

Fuck.

He closed his eyes, held his breath, and counted to ten.  Then he counted another seven until he realised that he'd went past ten and was only procrastinating.

Opening his eyes and letting out a long breath, Harry felt himself calm down enough to look the curiously still Snape right in the eye.

"I didn't mean to yell like that, and I wasn't yelling at you.  I'm sorry, really, I am.  I shouldn't have done that."

Snape still wasn't moving, and Harry had an image of him turning suddenly into a large panther and jumping at him, claws out and devilishly sharp, ran through his mind.

"I'm sorry," he repeated, hoping Snape wouldn't suddenly hex him into oblivion.

Then Snape stood and reversed the spell he had put on the urn.

"Ten minutes in the dining room.  We'll start your occlumency lessons.  Make sure you bring your wand."

Harry watched as Snape walked off and into the kitchen, wondering where his retribution had been.

The lessons started in ten minutes and he already had his wand with him, so he could sit here just a little while longer.

Leaning back against the urn, he looked up at the clouds.

Was it just him or did that one look exactly like a snake?

And maybe that one looked like a cat when you squinted.

Absently rubbing the scar on his hand with the palm of his other, Harry sighed.

Occlumency with Snape.

Oh, the fun.

But it was going to be worth it, he promised himself.

If putting up with Snape, even a Snape who was angry with him for yelling, was going to be the thing that stopped Hermione or Ron or even Snape himself from getting killed, then it was going to be worth it.

He tilted his head and smiled.

That one looked just like a lily.

Reviewers;

THANK-YOUs and massive glomps to:

Corgi1

Evelia

Elendil Snape

Drusilla-malfoy

LoonyLass – this chapter wasn't actually the conversation.  This was just Harry blowing off steam.  Conversation still to come.

LoonyLass

Hanakai – Wow, chocolate frogies!  Ferocious enjoyed his half!  The writers' block appears to be easing, but you wouldn't believe how long it took me to write this chapter, and I'm still not happy with it.  Congrats on the latest instalment of the **J. Alfred Prufrock Arc!**

Anne Phoenix

jaws 

The Third Child

xikum- s'my pleasure!  Glad you're happy!

Mélian 

Mikee

GatewayGirl – I think an owl wouldn't be in Harry's style, but I agree apologising is what he really should have done.  I'll be going into my version of why he didn't apologise sooner in a little bit, and why he went into the pensieve in the first place.  Hope you enjoy it.

Witchblade Hell – Deep?  Wow, I've never been described as deep before.  Really?  That's so sweet!  You did the rounds on my fics recently, right?  Thanks for reading them!

Anyway, R&R all!

Xox,

Mia:)


	4. IV

**_**

****

Guilty Consciences 

****

**WARNING – OOTP SPOILERS**

DISCLAIMER: All characters/trademarked and copyrighted indicia are property of J.K. Rowling, Bloomsbury, Scholastic and Warner Bros. I own my brain, the Harry Potter books and films I purchased and my computer (and some really rather fetching socks).

Rating – R for slashy nature, violence and icky images in future chapters.

Author's Notes/Summary – Was I the only one who, when they were reading this chapter, was screaming at Harry to apologise?  Started as a one-shot, but now is the beginnings of a fic thanks to… encouragement.  It's the first of what will be a triptych, and there'll be no slash until the second story – none at all – so feel free to read this story even if you're not going to continue when their relationship changes.

Gads, I know!  I'm so sorry!  But still…

And I think Chapter 5 is coming very soon.  I was all going to be one, so it's all still on track in the thought train, but it really was too long.

Also, part two of Yule Ball coming on the 1st of December.

There's really nothing to say except my brain appears to be reconstructing itself incredibly slowly after its apparent meltdown…

Hope it was worth the wait, although I seriously doubt it…

Review anyway.

Chapter 4 

Potter's outburst in the garden had made Severus hesitate about having that talk with him.  There was just so much there that he wasn't sure that he wanted to know about the young man.

He wasn't a boy any more.

Sure, he had a fiery temper and was prone to teenage huffs, but when he looked you right in the eyes there was this comprehension of things that most people had no idea about shining right at you.  He hadn't noticed until just then, but then again, until just then he had never really looked him in the eye.

Not a boy at the age of sixteen.  Even ***he*** hadn't lost his innocence until he had left Hogwarts.

They had now had four lessons – two on occlumency, which hadn't shown much progress since they had given it up, and two on potion making, which was going slightly better.  Actually, a lot better.  It looked like he would be able to join the class without any bother.

Yesterday Potter had gotten his official Hogwarts letter, the one that told students which books and equipment they needed for the coming year.

Potter had looked at it, picked something out of his hand, snarled at it, and threw it to the ground, stalking away.

After a few minutes, when he had realised that Potter wasn't coming back to get whatever it was, he walked over to it and picked up a badge of red and gold.  A prefect's badge.

Puzzled at why there had been such a violent reaction to the innocuous badge, to a position that was generally thought of with pride and honour, he held in his own hand.

He remembered that he had been made a prefect in his last year at Hogwarts.  He had watched for two years as other people in his year were given authority, the authority that he had thirsted for, with envy, and how he had felt when he had opened his letter and out had come a silver and green badge with a golden backing.  A silver and forest green shield, quartered, with the pale green serpent in the middle, covering the place where the lines intersected.  He had ran downstairs to his mother and father, and his mother had grinned, kissed his forehead, and congratulated him.

His father had said, "about time," and turned back to his paper.

Potter hadn't had anyone to react in any way, but Severus could just imagine the smug reaction of James.  His son following in his footsteps; carrying on the Potter legacy of greatness and popularity and being better than rest.

He hadn't known Lily Evans well enough to really picture her reaction, but he assumed that she would just be proud of her son.  She had been a prefect too, but she had been one for a year or two longer than him.

This badge was different to his own, which he still had somewhere in his rooms at Hogwarts.  Instead of the silver and forest green it was red and the gold of the backing, and in the middle rather than the serpent of pale green was a lion's head done in yellow.  In his opinion it wasn't as sophisticated and understated as his house's, but that was no reason to throw it to the ground.

Dumbledore had final say on prefects, but House Heads gave forwards suggestions.  It was discussed quite a bit in the staff room beforehand, and so he knew for a fact that Potter had been nominated last year.  He wondered at Dumbledore's decision to withhold the position from him that year but give it to him this.

Potter had to know that he was supposed to have gotten it last year, after all Weasley had gotten it, and everyone knew – even he was able to admit – that Potter was better at academia, sports, and general school life than Weasley.  In fact the only thing that Weasley exceed him at was strategy.  Chess.

He had thought, before, that Potter was probably upset that one of his best friends was smarter than him and the other better at strategy, but now he thought that maybe it was the friends who were a little jealous – after all, didn't he have everything else going for him?  Didn't he…?

Putting his hand into a pocket of his robes, Severus pulled out the badge.  He meant to give it back to Potter today before their lesson, but on thinking about it, he decided that they would forgo learning for the day.  It was time for that talk – he had procrastinated long enough.

So, when Potter came into the dining room that morning, wand in hand, he told him to put it away again, pleased to note that the young man followed his instructions without argument.

"Are we doing potions, then?  All my things are upstairs, but I can go get them."

He looked so earnest standing there in baggy jeans, t-shirt far too big, and trainers coming apart.  He looked like he actually wanted to learn, which was something Severus had never associated with any Potter, and probably never would again.

"We will not be doing either today.  Sit down."

Sitting himself, Severus noted the apprehension sparkling in those green eyes.  Eyes that looked a shade or two darker these days.  Still, the boy said nothing, and Severus noted that he ***didn't*** say anything when he wasn't sure what was going on.  Almost as if he didn't want to say something that might get him in trouble, or something that might give him away.  It was something Severus was used to from living with Slytherins his whole life, but not from any Gryffindors (unless of course the Headmaster ***had*** been in Gryffindor after all).

"I've noticed that we're not progressing much with the occlumency."

Potter had turned his face away.

"I really am trying!"

He sounded frustrated, angry.  Severus knew what that felt like.  He felt those emotions most of the time.

"I have noticed some progress, yes.  However there is a problem, and I am of the opinion that it may be due to a lack of trust.  Mister Potter, you do realise that any information that I gain during our lessons will be considered, by me, to be confidential?"

He got caught by that piercing stare again.

"Sir, it's not that I don't trust you specifically, it's that it's hard to trust anyone at all at the minute."

Something sparked in his mind, and on pure instinct – the instinct that had saved his life countless times before – he pulled Potter's badge out again and set it, shield side up, on the table between them.

Potter actually flinched away from it.

"I don't want that," he spat, face hardening, eyes narrowing.

Rolling his eyes, Severus pushed it towards him.

"I gathered as much when you threw it on the ground.  You do realise someone could have stepped on the pin?"

"Sorry."

He didn't sound very sorry.  In fact he sounded quite enamoured of that idea.  Severus began to wonder who he was picturing in his head standing on the pin of the badge.  Voldemort perhaps, although that was a rather surreal image.  One simply didn't imagine Voldemort doing anything more than one saw him do in front of people, and one didn't see him standing on offensive items, just as they didn't picture him, say, jumping up and down to get something high up when his wand was across the room.

Perhaps it was him – Severus.  That was more likely, although they hadn't had much contact other than the lessons, and anything said there was perfunctory, pragmatic.

Anyway, that was of little consequence right now.  Except that maybe it was.  Perhaps the person he was imagining standing on the pin was the person who had tested his trust.

"You don't want to be a prefect along with your shadows?"

Harry glared at him, and Severus was a little surprised at the intensity of emotion.

"They're not my shadows, they're my friends, sir."

So it wasn't the friends, then.  Not jealousy.

"You are aware the simply throwing the badge away won't stop you from being a prefect.  You'll have to speak to Professor McGonagall about that."

Potter grunted and nodded.  So it wasn't Minerva.

"And she'll probably take you for a discussion with the Headmaster, after all it's not everyday that someone gives up such a position.  He'll be bound to be curious."

Ah.  Yes, this was what he had been looking for.

Potter's face had scrunched up, his eyes narrowed once again, and he stared at the prefect badge with contempt.

"He'll know exactly why I don't want it, sir."

So it was Dumbledore, then.  That was interesting.

"And why is it that you don't want it?"

"I'm not the kind of person a prefect needs to be."

Well, thought Severus, that was certainly vague enough while not being disrespectful.  He was learning.

"Mister Potter, might I remind you again that anything I discover at these times is confidential?"

Potter looked at him again, and Severus could almost swear that his eyes were lit up inside by some magical inferno.

"I don't want to be a prefect, sir.  It would be hypocritical, for one thing."

Severus couldn't help but agree with that, however his friends had been made prefects, as had Draco Malfoy.  That couldn't have been the only reason.

Indeed, Potter kept talking.

"I don't want to be made a prefect simply because people would think there was something wrong otherwise.  'Oh, how could Harry Potter not have been made a prefect?  Isn't that terrible?'  It didn't happen last year because they all thought I was nuts and dangerous.  But now I'm the hero du jour again and they'll all want to know every aspect of my life.

"And I don't want it just because the Headmaster is trying to buy my forgiveness.  It's not going to work, and it's insulting that he thinks it would.  I just don't want it."

All of this was said in the calmest voice that Severus had heard Potter use.  It was almost too calm.

"Why would the Headmaster need your forgiveness, Potter?"

He knew he was sneering, and indeed, why would Dumbledore need anyone's forgiveness?  The young man looked away again.

"He doesn't need it, but he wants it.  And I'm not ready to give it to him just yet."

~~~~

Harry was uncomfortable speaking with the Professor like this.

That was what he had taken to calling him in thought – the Professor – as though there were only one he could possibly be referring to.

That instinct had kicked in, the one that told him not to lie because it would all come out anyway in the wash.

Fortunately, to his mind at least, the instinct to keep quiet and out of trouble, ingrained into him via the Dursley family, had also kicked in.

He was answering the questions as diplomatically as possible, but the questions were chafing at his already agitated mind, and besides that he had never been a diplomatic person.  He readily acknowledged that he was more of a 'wade-in-and-then-think-it-over' kind of person.

Snape had sneered at him, as though the idea of Dumbledore needing a person's forgiveness was below contemplation.

He had thought that once…

Dumbledore had let him down so badly, and he was never quite sure why.

Was it because of Sirius?  Was it because of the prophecy?  Was it because he put the weight of the world on shoulders that weren't ready and never would be?  Or was it simply because he was forced, that dawn not that long ago, to realise that no one was completely infallible, not even Dumbledore?

Since that day there had been no superlatives in Harry's world.  It was now filled with 'almost there's and 'not quite's.

Now, when he looked at Snape, he didn't know what to think.  His opinion on everything was changing.  His mind felt like liquid rolling around in a shallow container, and he was worried that it might all overflow if he thought too hard.

Why was Snape not saying anything?

Why was Snape not scowling, but instead looking… he looked as though he was seriously contemplating what Harry had said.

"We don't forgive people because we want to, Potter.  We forgive them because they need it."

~~~~

Severus realised that he was on a verge here.

Should he consider Potter to be an adult here and keep going forward with this conversation, or should he reverse his direction and put the possibility of any such future discussions, and as with them the timely completion of the Occlumency lessons, out of commission?

~~~~

Harry sat very still in his seat despite the fact that he could no longer feel his backside.

Something strange was going on here, something that even the discussion of two days ago couldn't compare to.

He felt like, if he moved, a spell the like of which could be found in an old faierytale would be broken.

He wasn't sure if that world be good or bad, so he did what he did when he wasn't sure.

Nothing.

~~~~

Severus realised that he could hardly expect Potter to open up to him if that lack of trust was still evident in him.

Potter's discretion regarding the Pensieve incident was pushing him towards sharing what was probably the lowest and most embarrassing time in his life.

The fact that it was Potter was pushing him away.

It was that apology he had received which finally pushed him over the edge of the precipice.

Oh, I'm an evil bitch am I not? 

**_Don't worry, as I said before, it's coming soon.  Writing it as soon as I finish posting this._**

**_So, quickly to reviewers.  Sorry if it's been so long you don't remember reviewing…_**

Thanks and glomps to:

evelia – sorry it wasn't soon, but it is here.

xikum – yes, Severus was a bit shocked to say the least.

Mikee – there will be even more opening up, and then, when you think they've finished opening up, yup, there'll be even more.

Lady Lightning

sev1970 – I'm hoping to interchange Harry and Severus' points of view in a relatively equal way.  The first and third chapters, plus some of this and about half of the next will be Harry.  Two, most of this, and half of the next will be Severus.  I find that the story almost demands a change in POV at certain pivotal points.

goldenpaw – the writers block is not so much gone as it was hiding and giggling for a while…

mooondragon3

Hanakai – Mia accepts Pink Floyd Hammer, batters blockage, and hopes that it will not build up again too soon  Love and kisses.  Also, big furious rec'ing to all out there for the **The J. Alfred Prufrock Arc**, newly updated this week, which rocks even more plankton that this in a major way.

Echo the Insane - :)

Corgi1

Denise 

Arili

azreial9621

Jaws

Cerberusmon

Alena

Cally 

t.a.g.0 – your poor disturbed cats:)

Also, to all out there who reviewed other fics and mentioned GC, thank you.

R&R

Xox,

Mia:)


	5. V

Guilty Consciences 

****

**WARNING – OOTP SPOILERS**

DISCLAIMER: All characters/trademarked and copyrighted indicia are property of J.K. Rowling, Bloomsbury, Scholastic and Warner Bros. I own my brain, the Harry Potter books and films I purchased and my computer (and some really rather fetching socks).

Rating – R for slashy nature, violence and icky images in future chapters.

Author's Notes/Summary – Was I the only one who, when they were reading this chapter, was screaming at Harry to apologise?  Started as a one-shot, but now is the beginnings of a fic thanks to… encouragement.  It's the first of what will be a triptych, and there'll be no slash until the second story – none at all – so feel free to read this story even if you're not going to continue when their relationship changes.

A/N 2:             Sorry it's been so long, but life happens, and this is only a story, so…

Also, I'd like to point out that I'm from Northern Ireland which, while it's not England, it's near as bedamned, so I speak, and write in, English, and not American English.  If my spelling confuses you, either deal with it, or don't read it.

Sorry if I sound bitchy, especially after such a long wait, but I'm in that kind of a mood.

Well, enjoy…

Previously: 

Severus realised that he could hardly expect Potter to open up to him if that lack of trust was still evident in him.

Potter's discretion regarding the Pensieve incident was pushing him towards sharing what was probably the lowest and most embarrassing time in his life.

The fact that it was Potter was pushing him away.

It was that apology he had received which finally pushed him over the edge of the precipice.

Chapter 5 

Snape was obviously uncomfortable with what he was about to say, and Harry was almost afraid of him.  People who were uncomfortable tended, in Harry's experience, to be some of the more dangerous people in his life.

And it wasn't as if he appreciated acknowledging that Snape was in his life, but that thought would have to wait until later for him to think about.  Right now he was more concerned with why Snape was so silent and pensive and obviously about to say something of import.  And not concerned for Snape, at that, but for himself.

There was a decidedly tense silence for more than a few seconds before Snape's dark voice reached out towards his ears.

"I was eighteen when I became a Death Eater."

~~~

Severus didn't want this to be an emotional, 'cry on each other's shoulders', pathetic confession time – good Merlin, no – so he decided not to mince his words.

"Up until then my life had been Hogwarts during the majority of the year and my home life during holidays.

"You were in my pensieve, you know how your father and his cadre treated me; I trust there is no need to reiterate that they were bastards.  They weren't the only ones.

"You've been inside my mind, so you have seen that my home life was not much better.  To serve someone who seemed to care about what I did was a breath of fresh air.

"Until I was initiated I had no real concept of what becoming a Death Eater entailed.  I had no idea what the name even meant – to Eat Death.  Anyone who has never experienced death can't possibly understand it.

"It comes from Celtic lore.  The warriors used to eat the heart of their opponents in order to gain their strength.  The Dark Lord wanted us to eat our death, figuratively, so that he could eat it magically, so that he could reap the benefits.  With death comes power – the ultimate power.  Ultimate power destroys, completely – remember that, Potter.

"Initiation into the Death Eaters is not a pretty show.  It is not a test of power, it is not a test of loyalty, and it is not a test of worth.  It is providing the Dark Lord with the pathway through which the death magic can flow and making sure that the Death Eater 'works' as such a vessel.

"Basically each man gets his brand, and then kills another man in His presence.  If it does not work the Death Eater is then killed as another test subject.  It is very clinical and very controlled.  Still, it is sickening, and it was when I killed that man, felt the power rise in me and then leave through the Mark, that I realised what a worthless endeavour being his servant was - is.

"I began to send written reports to Dumbledore – anonymously of course, but one knows that it is impossible to keep secrets from that man.  He called me about three months into it, told me it was an unsafe means of communication, and that if I were to do this I would do it his way.  I became a professor of potions after passing the Masters.

"It was only after that discussion that it registered what I had signed up for with the Dark Lord, and it was the meeting I had with him after the discussion with Dumbledore when I realised what he was preparing to do with his immense power.  I also realised my part in his plan, and I…

"The kindest way I can describe it is 'I broke down'.  I drank myself into a stupor in my rooms and did nothing else for a week.  My wards were such that it took Dumbledore that long to get through them.  I didn't want to be found, and I most certainly didn't want him to be the one to find me.

"We had a discussion after I had sobered up, and he forgave me.  And he told me what I told you – we forgive not because we want to, but because the person needs it.  I needed it then – I needed it to survive.

"Headmaster Dumbledore may not even need your forgiveness, but isn't the fact that he wants it good enough?"

Severus broke off.

He hadn't even been thinking about what he had been saying, but he hoped that, whatever he had ended up saying, it had struck a chord somewhere in Potter.

The young man, when he looked at him, appeared to be in deep thought.

Then the green eyes looked right at him again.

"It was never good enough for you."

~~~~

Harry was even more confused than he had been before.  Snape had just told him…

Snape had told him what he'd wanted to know ever since he had realised that Snape wasn't evil.

And Harry was grateful in ways he couldn't vocalise, and he was surprised, and he was more than a little numb.

But he was also, predominantly, confused, because everything Snape had just said, didn't it all just amount to hypocrisy?  Because it hadn't been good enough for Snape; his own need to be forgiven.

"It wasn't even me who you had to forgive, and yet you refused to do it.  And I spent these past five years being bitten down and scorned freely at your every whim and mood change because you wouldn't forgive my father and his friends.

"Granted what they did was more than not nice – it was bullying, and verbal and physical abuse, and public ignominy, and God knows what else, because I don't want to.

"But it wasn't me who did it, and you knew that, and still you refused to…

"I didn't even know what it was I needed to be forgiven for!  But I wanted to be, because I needed it, especially this last year when I needed to know that I ***wasn't*** my father after all.  And yet you refused to forgive me for the transgressions that my father had committed."

Harry shook his head in disgust and anger as he stood up.

"God, you complete, hypocritical ***bastard***!"

~~~~

Severus couldn't believe what he was hearing

Actually he could, because who would put it past the little prick to do something so exactly like this?

He stood, putting back the balance of height, shaking with rage and eyes narrowed.

"How dare you take that tone with me?  It may be summer, but I am still your professor and you will treat me with respect!"

~~~~

Harry's eyes narrowed to match his 'professor's', and his voice, when he spoke, vibrated with his fury.

"I'll treat you with respect when you at the very least recognise that I'm not my father."

~~~~

Severus flung an arm out, pointing to the doorway.

"Get out," he hissed.

But Potter remained standing confrontationally, at the other side of the table.

"No!  I'm not going through this all again!  I ***need*** to learn Occlumency, and to do that I need you to teach me.  And we can't do this if all we're going to do is yell at each other!"

Reluctantly Snape acknowledged the truth in the words.  But he was by no means pacified.

"I cannot teach a disrespectful, wilful little boy who believes his every demands should be met!  This subject requires self-discipline, and trust and respect between the teacher and pupil.  Until you can come to me with these things it is a fruitless endeavour!"

Severus watched as Potter slumped into his chair.  He hoped that meant he had won.

But then he spoke, almost in a whisper.

"You said we both need respect and trust, but from where I'm sitting you seem happy to settle for mine for you.  And you've got them now, you do.  But if you don't believe me and you can't trust that I mean what I say, then obviously you don't respect me either."

Snape sat down in shock that he refused to show as Potter continued.

"What you just told me, I understood that more than I thought I would, and I respect you for telling me it.  And I respect you for everything that you've done.  And I trust you, too, and not only for that.  But you can't even tolerate my presence never mind trust and respect me."

Severus said nothing, just stared hostilely at the small figure.

He watched as Potter sighed, stood again and turned his back.  It was a sight he was becoming more closely acquainted with day by day.

He heard Potter mumble under his breath, "there's just no point," before walking out, shoulders slumped and hand fingering the wand in his pocket.

When Severus looked down at the table, though, he saw that the prefect's badge was gone.

~~~~

Harry felt exhausted, mentally and physically.

It was only half past ten in the morning – he'd been awake for a matter of only a few hours, most of which he'd spent arguing with Snape – and he wanted to crawl back into bed and sleep.

Instead he went outside to sit on the ground by his urn.  All of the moss in the area within reach of his feet was now gone – kicked away during his previous visits to this little land that time forgot – so he settled with messing about with his dilapidated shoes, flicking the sole back and forth, rubbing it against the ground.

He wanted to be angry.  He wanted to be angry beyond belief; he wanted to be angry with everyone and at the world; at Sirius (for getting himself killed, for being such a prick, for not being there to talk to), at Snape (for allowing Sirius to die, for being different, for confusing him), at Ron and Hermione (for only coming to Grimmauld Place when Ron's family were at the Order meetings, for not being here right now, for obviously caring more about each other than him), at Dumbledore (for not telling him about the prophecy, for telling about the prophecy, for pretending he cared).

He wanted to, but he wasn't really angry with anyone but himself at the minute.  Oh, he would be later, for those exact reasons and more, but /at the minute/…

He began wondering if he had ever given Snape a reason to believe he was any better than his father.  After all, Snape only saw him during classes, when Harry nearly failed at potion making and talked to his friends and fought with the Slytherins, or in the halls, or at Quidditch matches or at meals, when he was either getting praise or putdowns depending on the mood of the school at large as well as talking to his friends and fighting with Slytherins.

Or during one of his near-death experiences, but he was never at his best then.

It was just like the other teachers, he presumed, except that where they had good impressions of his father, Snape had bad ones.  Snape had done nothing more nor less than the other teachers.  And slowly it dawned on him that if he wanted to have Snape's respect and trust, he would have to earn it in the way that Snape had earned his – by showing he deserved it.

Of course, Snape was still far from his favourite person, and if people's lives didn't rest on it he would likely never try.  But they did, so he would.  Grudgingly.

He looked up at the urn that Snape had previously turned into a stool and back, and saw that it was moss and dirt free.  And it looked quite nice like that, just like the flagstones he had inadvertently demossed looked nice.

Maybe it was time to start making the rest look nice, but on purpose this time. 

~~~~

Snape lay on his back on his fully made bed, fully clothed, and in full pensive mode.

The curtains were closed so that only a dim light came through the yellow fabric, and the play of light and shadow on the ceiling high above him was perfect to highlight the cracks in the paintwork.  It looked like a map of a river, the headwater and then the channel with tributaries and deltas, leading finally to the mouth, spilling out into empty paintwork that wasn't half as good at keeping his mind occupied.

He could be doing a million other things at the minute.  He could be looking at his pensieve, collecting his thoughts before the meeting in two hours.  He could be looking at his potions logbook to see what else he could try to make the potion non-poisonous and fit for testing.  He could be thinking about whether what Potter had said was true or not.  He could be working on his lesson plan for next term.

He decided on just lying on his back in the dim room for a while longer, staring at the ceiling, just as he had when he was younger and he wanted to avoid things.  Of course back then it had been the arguments and the fights and the feel of a slap, or worse, the sharp sound of it ringing out from across the room.

He wondered what Potter did when he needed to get away from it all.  And then he stared at the ceiling, and didn't wonder anymore, just looked at the river on the ceiling.

TBC

To all of my reviewers – thank you.

R&R

Xox,

Mia:)


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